


Taming of the Hound

by celticheart72



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2018-11-09 02:50:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11095341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celticheart72/pseuds/celticheart72
Summary: What if the Hound were married to a woman as strong willed and stubborn as he is? One who is sworn to protect Sansa Stark as much as he is sworn to protect the boy king. Ivy Clegane is that woman and she infuriates Sandor as much as she calms the demons who live inside of him.





	1. Tyrion's Intervention

Ivy stood at Sansa’s right hand listening to the boy play at being King as his cousin read off the alleged atrocities Sansa’s brother had apparently committed. She glanced to Sandor who stood at the foot of the throne to Joffrey’s left with his hand resting solemnly on his sword belt. He did not overtly acknowledge her, but he did flick a glance her way and she saw something in his eyes she liked not one bit. She was truly afraid for Sansa.

“Kneel,” she heard Joffrey command Sansa who dropped immediately to her knees. “You’re here to answer for your brother’s latest crimes. What do you have to say?” He aimed the crossbow he was holding at Sansa’s head.

“Your Grace…” Ivy started to say moving in front of Sansa.

Joffrey let loose his crossbow bolt and it slammed into Ivy’s left shoulder, Sandor took a step down toward her until Joffrey glared at him and she raised her right hand slightly as she stumbled back and dropped to her knees, grunting in pain at the bolt her in shoulder. Sandor watched her carefully but thankfully he remained where he was. If his anger got the best of him it could get him killed and things would be much worse on her and Sansa.

“Your Grace, whatever my traitor brother has done I had no part. You know that.” She heard Sansa wail.

Joffrey walked back to his throne and sat back down, placing the crossbow on the floor in front of him. “You are of wolf’s blood and we must send a message to Robb Stark. My mother says I must keep you alive or they will kill my Uncle Jaime so we’ll have to send the message in another way.”

Ivy watched him as he looked from Sansa to Ser Meryn standing to his right. “Ser Meryn…Leave her face, I like her pretty.” She saw Sansa scream as Meryn landed a fist into her belly, and Sandor bristle at her sobs. Meryn then took the flat of his sword blade and struck Sansa on the back of her thighs causing her to fall to her knees sobbing.

“My lady is overdressed Meryn, relieve her of her burden… and use the whip.” Joffrey smiled that evil smile as he looked at the poor girl.

“Your Grace, please if I may…” Ivy stood and prayed Sandor would not try to intervene.

Joffrey looked angry, but held up his hand to Meryn, ”What is it Bitch?” His pet name for her since she was the wife of his dog.

“You say you like the Lady Sansa pretty but yet a whip will leave scars that will never fade. Allow me to take the punishment instead,” Ivy prayed this next would appeal to the boys sense of cruelty, “And as I am not your lady, you could wield the whip yourself.”

Sansa and Sandor both looked shocked, and she saw something flash in Sandor’s eyes she had never seen before, true fear.

Joffrey smiled, “I like it, I will grant your request.” Turning to Sandor he asked, “What do you think Hound? Should I give her 10 lashes or 20?”

“Whatever Your Grace deems best,” Sandor stiffly replied, Ivy knew he was more than passing agitated with her boldness. It was both why he loved and why she frustrated him so much.

The boy king must not have known how close Sandor was to tearing off his head as he turned back to Ivy and said, “Meryn, bare her.”

Ivy watched as Meryn walked behind her, smiling at her as he did so, and pulled the tunic she wore from her breeches, and ripped it down the back. She winced as the fabric tore away from the crossbow bolt in her shoulder, and she pulled her left arm into her chest to brace it and hold up the front of her tunic to avoid baring her fully to the court. The King started slightly at the scars on her back, but then smiled all the more, “Appears you’re more suited to my dog than I believed, I see how he keeps you in line now.” She heard Sansa cry harder, and saw Sandor looking ahead with unbridled fury blazing in his grey gaze.

She heard the whip snap and strike her back, dropping her to her knees. It stung but was not pain she had never felt before. Sandor took a step toward her, and her head snapped up. Her eyes met his and she silently plead to him not to move a step farther. He must have understood because he stopped though she saw the worry clouded in his eyes.

The whip cracked again, and this time she reached her right hand out to the floor to brace herself. Crack, strike, she closed her eyes, crack, strike, she held her breath. “Meryn, I grow tired of this, she isn’t even crying. You do it, and make sure to draw her blood.”

She didn’t dare turn her heard to Sandor as she knew he would stop this right then and there if she did, “Enough,” she heard him growl.

“No, it isn’t, Meryn, get on with it,” Joffrey snapped.

Crack, strike. Now this really did hurt, and she could feel rivulets of blood begin winding their way down her back. Crack, strike, and at that she did cry out.

“Your Grace,” she heard Sandor say – she only hoped Joffrey didn’t hear the menace in his voice.

“Harder Meryn,” Joffrey yelled.

Crack, slam. She could no longer hold herself up, and dropped all the way to the floor.

As she heard the whip crack again a voice bellowed, “What is the meaning of this?” And she felt nothing further. She glanced up to see Sandor holding the end of the whip glaring at Meryn and Tyrion Lannister marching forward to the king with his pet sellsword in tow.

“What kind of knight beats an innocent girl, and whips a woman bloody?” Tyrion roared at Meryn pulling the whip from his hands and throwing it to the floor.

Tyrion looked down to Ivy and then to Sandor, motioning Sandor to Ivy. Sandor removed his mantle and draped it over her shoulders as he stood protectively over her and Sansa.

“One that does as his King commands,” Meryn spat.

“Oh? And how does this endear you to your people Your Grace?” Tyrion turned to Joffrey.

“I’m the King that’s all that matters, and the King can do as he likes.” Joffrey practically screamed.

“Aerys the Mad King did as he liked. Did your Uncle Jaime ever tell you what happened to him?” Tyrion asked. She was not fond of the dwarf but by the seven he was bold.

“No one threatens the King in the presence of the Kingsguard.” Meryn growled and stepped forward in front of Tyrion.

“Careful, you wouldn’t want to get blood on that pretty white cloak,” the sellsword, Bronn, told Meryn.

“Bronn, if Meryn speaks again, kill him,” Tyrion told the sellsword flatly.

Bronn smiled, and placed his hand on the pommel of his sword.

Turing to Meryn Tyrion told him, “Now that was a threat, see the difference?”

Joffrey huffed and pouted, “I’ll tell mother.”

“Oh good, let’s do that. Someone fetch the queen and we’ll see what my sister has to say,” Tyrion looked at Joffrey. “No? Well then I expect something like this won’t happen again.”

Tyrion turned and offered his hand to Sansa, “Lady Stark?”

Sansa took his hand and it was at that moment that Ivy decided passing out would be a good idea as she felt her husband’s arms reach around her.

…

“She needs a healer to pull that bolt out and tend her wounds,” she heard someone say a little too loudly.

“I don’t trust Pycelle, I’ll not have him touch her.” Sandor?

Sansa crying in the background.

“Qyburn?” another voice.

Rolling her eyes and cursing under her breath at the temerity of men, she sat up as best she could, looked to the bolt in her shoulder, ground her teeth, and yanked it out grunting as she did so. As they heard the bolt hit the floor she saw Sandor, Bronn, and Tyrion all turn at once to face her.

“Guess she took care of that herself,” she saw Bronn smile at her and cross his arms over his chest.

“Fucking bloody fools,” she spat at them before the world went black again.

She must not have been out long because when she woke again the three of them were still arguing and Sansa was still crying. She was laying on her right side facing them.

“Seven hells, you men are worse than the girl. Shut up will you? You’re giving me a headache,” she didn’t try to sit up this time, but instead rolled to her back dragging Sandor’s mantle to cover herself, wincing as the wounds on her back touched the linen, and just draped her right arm over her eyes. “Just get me a jug of wine, cloth for bandages, and Sansa can tell you what she needs to make a healing salve.”

“No wonder you married her, this woman is made of stronger stuff than most men,” Bronn grinned.

Sandor chuckled, “She is at that.” He glanced to her, “But she can be as stupid as a rutting boar at times too.”

“Shut up Clegane,” she said to him, “If I had not taken the beating for Sansa do you think she would have fared as well?”

The three men looked at each other, then at Sansa who sat across from them tears still streaming down her face.

She reached her right hand to Sansa, “Sansa, come here.” The girl sat on the bed next to Ivy and took her hand. “You remember the healing salve Maester Luwin taught you to make?” Sansa nodded and Ivy squeezed her hand slightly. “Good, tell my husband and his merry band of fools here what you need to make it so they will stop their incessant chatter.”

At that she got a chuckle from Sandor and Bronn, and an appreciative smile from Tyrion.

“You are worse than a group of women the lot of you,” she put her arm back over her eyes. “And if anyone says the words dreamwine or milk of the poppy,” she pulled her hidden dagger from inside her breeches, “I swear I will throw this at you.”

Sandor easily disarmed her, “Hush,” he said quietly his lips barely touching hers and he held a wineskin to her mouth, she took a few sips and knew he had tricked her. It was milk of the poppy.

She felt her eyes getting heavy, and heard Bronn again, “How did you find a woman like that Clegane? The luck of the Seven must have been with you.”

“I think it was her old gods that cursed her,” Sandor replied, brushing some of her hair back from her eyes.

After that she felt small cool hands cleaning and dressing the wound on her shoulder, Sansa she knew. Then much larger hands rolling her over to her stomach, and linens being pulled from under her to be replaced with clean ones. Then small cool hands cleaning and dressing the wounds on her back. She heard someone take Sansa from the room, Sandor maybe? And Bronn and Tyrion continuing to talk before she fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

SANDOR

“I gave the little bird to her maid. She is still chirping about loyalty to Joffrey,” Sandor shook his head angrily glancing to Ivy who thankfully was resting peacefully. He had nearly gone into a rage when the bastard King shot her with his crossbow, then actually thought beating her was a good idea in front of his court. Stupid stupid boy, he won’t last long. The Imp’s voice brought him back to the present.

“The Lady Stark may survive King’s Landing yet,” Tyrion said.

“She may, but what of my wife? The damned woman won’t listen to me, and she will defend the little bird at risk of her own life as she proved today,” Sandor said angrily.

“What Joffrey did was stupid, and I don’t expect that it will happen again. Even my father won’t allow that kind of behavior,” Tyrion mused. “We need to attempt to trade Sansa for Jaime, that may be the only way to get her safely away from here.”

“My cousin might agree to your terms but her son will not,” Ivy told him hoarsely.

“How in the seven hells are you awake?” Sandor rumbled at her.

“You three are like a bunch of women sewing, they can’t shut up. The dead couldn’t sleep in here. Where are we anyway?” Ivy asked looking around.

“The Tower of the Hand,” Tyrion said, “I thought it best to bring you all back here where I could make sure neither the King or Queen regent had access to you.”

“Sandor please,” she reached her right hand out to him, he took it and gently pulled her to a sitting position and sat behind her on the bed so she could lean back into him. She saw a strange look pass between Bronn and Tyrion as she closed her eyes and felt his right arm come around her.

“I swear to you Imp, if I lose her for any reason I’ll hold you responsible,” she heard Sandor say softly.

“I see now why you’re go gruff to her in court, she’s your only weakness isn’t she?” Tyrion asked thoughtfully. “We’ll have to get all three of you out of King’s Landing somehow.”


	2. Getting To Know Each Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor observes Ivy sparring in the practice yard, and they run into each other in the Godswood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter flashes back to just after the King and his court come to Winterfell to bring Ned to King’s Landing to make him the King’s Hand.

**Sandor’s POV**

Joffrey and his amusements, by the Seven the boy grated on his nerves. He was branded a monster for his size and face, but this child was more monster than he ever thought to be. Today the boy decided he was going to teach the Stark boys how to play at swords, and play is all it would be as Joff was a poor swordsman himself. As they approached he watched the young Stark cub, Robb, hack and slash at his opponent who was wearing practice leathers along with a helm that covered his entire head to his neck. Sandor noted and appreciated the lithe way the boy moved, Robb wasn’t following though and the boy brought his wooden sword down on the young lords left shoulder and when he spoke the voice behind the helm sounded eerily familiar to Sandor.

The next thing he knew Joffrey, the fool, was ordering him to take the boy on with his short sword. Sandor was one of the biggest men in the realm, at six foot six, he stood head and shoulders over most men, except his brother who was a foot taller than him. This boy was over a foot shorter than he, the top of his head came just below Sandor’s shoulder blade. One full swing of even his short sword and the boy would be cleaved in two. But the boy was apparently either too stupid to know a fool’s fight when he saw one or too brave for his own good, he actually reached his hand out and made a come-hither motion to Sandor.

Shaking his head slightly at the folly of stupid boys, he drew his short sword, promising himself he would not put any of his strength into his swings. Wouldn’t do to cleave one of Winterfell’s children in two as he had no idea who this boy was. The child was the only one wearing a helm out of all the many boys in the yard. After a few minutes he grew suspicious of who the “boy” was hacking at him as everyone around them, including the castellan, looked decidedly nervous. Finally he just reached out with the flat of his blade knocking into the other’s sword hard enough to knock him in the dirt. As the child lay there catching his breath Sandor stood over him and yanked off his helm to reveal Ivy as his opponent.

He had suspected but wasn’t prepared for her green eyes staring up from underneath him. Underneath him…”Seven hells,” was all he could manage before she jumped up and put the point of her sword at his breastplate.

She winced as the prince sniveled his stupidity and he grabbed the point of her sword and pulled it from her, “You are a very lucky woman.”

He saw mirth in her eyes, and something else as she laughed. “I don’t think so, I would never have gotten the better of you if you were not ogling me yet again.”

Ogling wasn’t the half of it. He handed her sword back to her pommel first and turned to follow Joff from the yard.

**Ivy’s POV**

They were again in the practice yard and this time Ivy was fighting Jory with tourney swords. She had no idea what the man was thinking by offering to be her sparring partner this morn. He knew even after eleven years she still carried a great deal of anger towards him and could barely stand to be within a few feet of him. Of course sparring with him using blunted swords did allow her to release years of pent up anger at him and he was taking all of her blows but returning few.

He swung his sword to her right and she stepped easily out of the way bringing her sword up to deflect his and striking him hard in the right shoulder, his sword arm. “Damnit woman I do still have to swing a sword,” he yelped backing away from the blazing anger in her eyes.

“I might feel some remorse if you weren’t such a horses arse Cassell,” she returned.

“Eleven years Ivy,” he shook his head and threw down his tourney sword. “I yield. There’s just no pleasing you.” He turned and walked back to the keep rubbing his shoulder where she struck him.

She laughed at his back, “As if you ever could.” Her sword was gripped in her right hand so tight she could feel the pommel biting into her flesh.

Behind her she heard a bark of laughter she knew to be Sandor Clegane, and then the voice of the Crown Prince. “Dog, why don’t you give the woman some lessons, redeem yourself from yesterday.”

She tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and sighed loudly, before turning slightly to face the two so that she was looking over her right shoulder with her sword in her hand, and saw Joffrey begin to back away with a slight look of fear in his eyes at the sight of her. She must have looked like the Harbinger of Death. Her long strawberry hair was pulled loosely back and wisps of it floated around her face, and her green eyes gleamed with unbridled fury. Her leather armor was a dark gray with green woven in and made to fit her form so she looked every bit the warrior she was and left no question that she was most certainly a woman. She wore no helm, bracers, or chainmail, and her arms were bare to the shoulders.

“Clegane, if you wish to fight me then pick up that sword and come on,” she growled at him.

He actually grinned at her as he reached down to pick up the sword Jory left behind, “My pleasure.”

She came forward swinging her sword at him, and each time he easily blocked her blows with sword or gauntleted arm. After fifteen minutes of this she grew increasingly frustrated and moved to kick him in the gut, which she knew would not hurt him but might at least make her feel better. He reached his hand out lightning quick and caught her thigh near her hip, his fingers nearly touching her cunt. He pulled her to within inches of his face still holding her thigh in his iron grip. Gods this man was making her heart quicken, and not from fear.

“Woman fighting when you are angry will get you killed. I don’t know what the other did to make you so wroth, but I’ll not be attacked for another’s wrongs,” he growled down at her his steel grey gaze holding hers.

He towered head and shoulders above her and was strong as an ox, yet he didn’t hurt her.

“Oh fuck off Sandor,” she spit at him and wedged her leg onto his thigh to push him back.

He released her leg and staggered back slightly with an angry look at first before he smiled then turned and walked back to his Prince who looked out of sorts.

Rodrik walked up to her, “You grow too bold.”

Ivy smiled sadly and spoke quietly, “Rodrik, I’ve held onto my anger at Jory for so long now that I no longer know what to do with it. He was the only chance I had at a husband and family when I was but seventeen, and when he rejected me I was left with few choices. What do I have to live for now but this? I am 8 and 20 with no possibility of a husband or lover,” Rodrik looked taken aback at that. She smiled at the old castellan, “Even a woman has desires Rodrik. I have little hope of a future but being what is before you.”

“And what is that?” The old castellan asked.

She laughed sardonically, “Sansa’s sworn shield.”

He shook his head at her as she turned to leave and found the Hound listening not far away with a thoughtful expression on his face.

The fact that he overheard made her blood boil even hotter. “Eavedropping is quite rude even for one such as you,” she said angrily between clenched teeth as she made to move past him.

He made to reach for her, and she jerked herself away before advancing on him. “What? Do you mean to give me some kind words? You don’t seem the sort and I don’t need niceties from any man. Your gruff tongue? That I would far prefer.”

“Anytime my lady,” he leered and left to rejoin his prince.

She stood there a few minutes, her heart thumping in her chest.

That evening she sat at one of the tables in the back away from the high lords and ladies, away from the knights, away from the Hound. Ned asked her to sit at the table with his family, but Sansa and Arya’s bickering that evening was giving her a headache. After barely touching her dinner, she finally stood and walked out of the hall into the cool night. It was lightly snowing. It was nearly always lightly snowing in the north, this was nothing new, but it was cold and she failed to bring her cloak with her. She had on a lavender colored light woolen dress that brought out the green of her eyes, and her strawberry hair fell in soft cascades across her back.

“I hear you bested Joffrey’s Hound yesterday,” she heard a voice say.

Looking down she found Tyrion Lannister looking up at her. She moved to sit at a bench at the side of the walkway so they would be eye to eye.

“Aye, I did, only because he was surprised to be fighting a woman once he pulled off my helm. And he got the better of me today for I was far too angry to fight him properly once the Prince bade him teach me,” she sighed and looked off in the darkness.

“He is a big man, feared by many, and rightly so. But you are far too lovely to be in fighting leathers,” he mused smiling at her.

Ivy laughed, “Looks are deceiving Milord, as I’m sure you well know.”

He looked slightly puzzled. “I do, but I wonder at your words today. No husband or lover?” He smiled at her look of shock. “My nephew has an inquisitive nature, and your words were apparently loud enough to carry to his ears as well. I’d be careful what you say with him in close proximity. He is like to send his dog to resolve your baser needs if it amused him.”

She smiled, “He could try, but I fear even Clegane would not want me. And Clegane would certainly find that my bite is far worse than my bark. I’m sorry, but I’d like to make the Godswood before it gets too cold. Please excuse me.” She stood and walked towards the path next to the guard tower with her hands tucked up in her sleeves.

She looked into the night sky as she walked to the Godswood where she sat at the bench in front of the heart tree. Slowly and painfully a flood of memories came rushing back. Her father, Randall Tarly, telling her she was to be the wife of Stannis Baratheon, at the age of sixteen. The bard at the feast that evening eyeing her too closely and then coming to her room uninvited. The knife she used to stab him with when he ripped her gown from her back. The blood on her sheets she tried to hide, but that her maid took to her father. Her father’s rage when he believed she cuckolded the King’s brother. The beating she took in the courtyard the next day, and the fire catching her hair. After that all that she knew was Winterfell. She reflexively reached up to touch her hair and a sob escaped her. It had been many years since she had cried over her past. Why did Robert have to come to Winterfell now?

“Bugger me, I come out to the bloody wood for wine and quiet and now there’s a woman simpering in her skirts,” a familiar voice rasped making her jump. She rolled her eyes and looked up to see the Hound move into the light from the shadow of the trees. How long had he been there?

“Forgive my intrusion Sandor, I certainly. . . oh by the gods old and new, have your wine and quiet!” She snapped at him and jumped from the bench to make her way out of the Godswood. He was faster than she was though and caught her left wrist in his hand and pulled her to him. She stared at him with fire in her eyes and saw the burned side of his face soften just a bit.

“I know something of pain Ivy, and a woman such as you deserves none of it.”

Her eyes narrowed, “You know nothing of what I deserve, let me go.”

He released her pushing her back almost gently and she wondered at that gentleness in a man so big. She put her hands on her hips and glared at him, “You ogle me, you eavesdrop on conversations that have nothing to do with you, and now you manhandle me. Tell me Sandor, do you have any redeeming qualities?”

“I never lie.” He stared at her, gods he was intoxicating. “Tell me, why would no man have you?”

“What concern is it of yours?” She hissed.

He shrugged, “Perhaps none, but it is a curiousity. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on, and you certainly have a lot of…” his lip curled into what she could only read as a snarl. “…spirit. But your strawberry hair and green eyes do not proclaim you a Tully.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against a tree watching her carefully.

She stared at him open mouthed unable to speak, how in all of the seven hells had he picked up on that.

Something flickered in his eyes, “Woman, I have no reason to reveal you to anyone. If these fools don’t know who you are by now bugger me to tell them.”

“How did you…” she stammered, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. She waved her hands at him for emphasis that she was out of words.

He reached out and grabbed her shoulders roughly bringing her within inches of his face. She could smell leather, strongwine, and something that was so intimately the Hound. “I don’t hide what I am, so that brands me a brute, but it also makes people forget that I’m not stupid.” He glanced down to the front of her dress and leered at her, “I wonder how many men have you lain with that make you so undesirable?”

She was so startled by the bold question after his softness that she struck him on the unscarred side of his face to make sure he’d feel the sting of it. He bristled at the slap and before he could say anything else she reached out pushing him away and turned her back to him and strode out of the Godswood.

It had been two days and she had not spoken to him. Of course she had seen him, but she avoided his gaze as much as possible and had not put herself in any position where he could approach to speak to her. She spent her free time training and riding, knowing that when they left Winterfell she was Sansa’s shield.

That evening at dinner he came to her bench. She grimaced as he sat next to her, his back to the table, and his lips pursed in something of a frown. He looked her way and when she looked into his grey eyes actually saw something like remorse flicker there.

“My words… they were unecessary,” he said simply.

She sighed heavily, “It is alright, you just caught me by surprise.”

He flashed her a small but genuine smile, and it made her realize how handsome he actually was. When this man truly smiled it reached his eyes. “You paid me back for it. I wore the sting of your slap for days.”

She smiled just a little, “I’m sorry for that.”

“You shouldn’t be, I deserved it.” And with that he stood.

She reached out to take his hand in hers, “Sandor,” she searched his eyes as he gazed down upon her. “What you know…”

“I know nothing my lady,” he replied giving a slight squeeze of her hand and returned to stand behind Joffrey’s chair.


	3. Vows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and Ivy have an intimate moment and he confesses something to her about the incident with Joffrey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to ‘present day’ which is the timeframe during chapter one. I’ll start noting either present day or where a flashback falls at the start of each chapter so it’s clear where we are in the timeline.  
> There will be more explanation on Ivy’s background and exactly how she ended up at Winterfell in a future flashback chapter.  
> Warning - most of this chapter is smut.

Present day

Ivy woke once again this time to find she was laying in the bed of the chambers she shared with her husband. Perhaps the Imp had determined it was safe and that neither the boy king nor his whore of a mother would retaliate against them. For now. The wounds on her back stung like a thousand bees had their way with her flesh and her left shoulder ached. Needing a drink and the privy she, without thinking it through first, tried to push herself up with her left hand and a searing pain shot through her shoulder and chest. Despite trying not to she cried out and cursed her old gods.

“Bugger me, woman what are you at?” Sandor snarled from next to her.

The room was dark and with her mind on her wounds she hadn’t even realized he lay in bed with her. “I need to get up,” was all she could manage to say to him, her breathing heavy.

He chuckled as he stood, the blankets falling away from his nakedness, “Should have used your other arm.” His gently took her right hand and helped her scoot to the end of the bed and stand. It was when the shift she wore fell past her knees and gaped away from her frame that she realized she wore one of his soft woolen undertunics instead. She looked at him questioningly and he simply shrugged, “Thought it would be better on your wounds than those linen shifts you wear to bed.”

While he still held her hand she pushed up on her toes and leaned into his chest to give him a kiss. Their tender moments were reserved for their chambers out of view of anyone who might think to use their feelings for one another against them. They never said the words for fear someone would overhear, only occasionally mouthing them to the other but they didn’t really need to hear the words to know. It had been that way almost from the beginning, Ned and Cat knew, so did King Robert, but surrounded as they were by lions always on the prowl for their next victim they hid their passion for each other well. Joffrey believed his dog beat and raped his bitch regularly, it kept him at bay and prevented his demanding Sandor publicly humiliate or hurt his wife. At least they continued to hope it would.

She used the privy in the corner of their room and washed herself afterwards before making her way to the pitcher of water she kept with his wine. Pouring herself a small cup of water she held it in her right hand and took some small sips as she watched her husband. Sandor’s eyes had tracked her movement around the room and she could see his cock standing erect for her. He wouldn’t touch her while she was injured, that she knew for a fact, just as she knew in the beginning that his nature was far gentler than the impression he gave. Turning it over in her mind she tried to figure out a way she could make use of his cock to her advantage. If she could find release the bliss afterwards was better than dreamwine or milk of the poppy at killing pain, and she had no intention of going back to using her own hand for that. It wasn’t near as good as when she found release by his tongue or with his cock inside of her. While she couldn’t lay on her back or kneel on the bed she could certainly ride astride him.

He was watching her warily and had likely already figured out that she was up to something, “What is in that head of yours Ivy Clegane?”

Smiling at his use of her name she walked over to him and ran the fingers of her right hand over the muscles of his chest while his stormy grey eyes watched her. When she leaned down her hair fell away from her shoulders and her breath tickled his good ear, “All the ways I can ride your cock.”

“Ivy…” His large hands already gripped her hips as she moved to straddle him and she realized with how he was sitting on the bed and its height she could easily stand and ride him however she wanted.

She gave him a pouty look she knew drove him wild, “Sandor, your wife is hurt and needs comfort. Would you deny her pleasure?”

His forehead leaned into her chest between her breasts, his tunic the only barrier to his hot breath reaching her skin as he whispered, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Smoothing the hair from his forehead she placed kisses over the scarred side of his face where she knew he felt some sensation, “My cunt isn’t the part of my body that’s hurt. It’s aching right now, but that’s because it needs your cock to fill it.” While she spoke she reached her hand down between her legs and dipped one finger into the wetness there then brought it up to his lips. His tongue reached out and licked the finger before sucking it into his mouth making her whimper with need.

That was all it took and his hands were manipulating her hips down onto his cock so he could slide into her wet heat. She felt herself enveloping him, molding to fit his cock as inch by inch he slid further into her until he was touching that spot inside of her that made her fall apart when he hit it just right. Her knees were bent enough that if she stood he would slide mostly out of her and when she dropped again he was fully seated. Doing this a few times she found a rhythm she liked and he began to thrust his hips to match her movements. With his help she pulled his tunic over her head and dropped it to the floor. When her breasts were bared to him his mouth found a nipple and flicked it with his tongue while his large hand kneaded her other breast occasionally rubbing his thumb over its erect and aching peak.

It didn’t take long for her to figure out that she wasn’t going to be able to reach her release as they were. She needed more friction, she either needed Sandor’s hand, or she needed him to put her on her back. Her breaths were coming in quick gasps and she was shaking with need. Sandor noticed and slowed down his thrusts, lifting his head he buried his nose in the crook of her neck and lightly nibbled her skin there. Instinctively knowing what she needed he brought one of his hands between them and used his thumb to lightly rub over her swollen nub making her throw her head back and suppress a moan. He stood then, both hands grasping her bottom, her legs wrapped around him, and he used his hands to move her on his shaft. She could feel herself getting close, but still too far away.

“Sandor, put me down, on the bed,” she pleaded, she needed him over her, needed the friction from the hard and fast that he could give her in that position.

He stilled and looked at her quickly but thought better of arguing and did as she bade him. Resting her left arm over her chest she leaned slightly to her left and propped herself up on her right elbow before using her legs to draw him into her hard. Sandor got the message and thrust his hips harder rocking them with each thrust to grind into her swollen nub. It didn’t take long before she felt herself start to clench down around him hard and his hips faltered as they found their climax together. He shouted incoherently but before she could cry out his mouth crashed down on hers taking her in a searing kiss. When his lips left hers she was smiling and breathing heavily as was he.

When he moved away from her and off the bed she shifted to her right side and watched as he cleaned himself then returned to her and gently cleaned her as well. He dropped the cloth he used to the floor and laid back in the bed facing her with his eyes closed.

“Seven buggering hells I wanted to tear him to pieces when he loosed that bolt,” he whispered so she could just barely hear him.

She reached her right arm out from under her to grasp his forearm, “I know.”

His grey eyes opened and he looked right into her green, “If he had killed you I would have. Bugger anything that would have happened to me at that point.”

“I know,” she replied quietly, suddenly realizing he had been afraid of losing her that day. They couldn’t lay tangled together as they often did at night so she scooted in closer to him and lifted a leg over his to gain more of a connection to him.

“You put yourself in danger like that again I’ll take you to my knee,” Sandor ground out as he placed a hand over her hip.

Sighing she gave him a hard look, “Sandor I have a sworn duty to protect Sansa just as you have a sworn duty to protect Joffrey.”

“Joffrey has the Kingsguard, doesn’t need me,” he narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m your husband. I spoke the words and made a vow to you. I didn’t protect you today like a husband should.”

Suddenly it all clicked into place. Sandor didn’t take vows, he felt that people who took vows didn’t take them seriously and too often broke them. When he took his marriage vows they were the first and only vows he’d ever made and he felt like he failed her that day because she got hurt.

“Actually you did Sandor. If you had done anything to intervene things would have been worse. You could have been killed and then it all would have been ten times worse for Sansa and I,” she reassured him with a smile. ‘I love you’ she mouthed to him.

His eyes held hers for a moment before he nodded gruffly and pulled the blankets over her, “Go to sleep. The little bird will be here before long to clean your wounds.”

Realizing he wasn’t going to entertain any more discussion she closed her eyes. Before finally drifting off she felt his hand moving gently through her hair.


	4. Betrothals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and Ivy clash in the past at Winterfell and Joffrey schemes.

Flashback to the King’s visit to Winterfell…

In the late evening, after most of the keep had retired to the small hall for dinner and wine or ale, Ivy worked in the practice yard alone. She appreciated the solitude of evening when she could have the yard to herself and practice her swordsmanship without prying eyes to remind her that it wasn’t a woman’s work. Maester Luwin and Septa Mordane were forever trying to get her out of her armor and into a septa or healers robes since at her age marriage appeared out of the question. Neither of those lives appealed to her though, they never had. Being a sworn shield wasn’t what she expected of her life either, but it was what she had, and she was going to make the most of it. Sansa would have need of her once they left Winterfell.

It had been announced that Sansa would be betrothed to the Crown Prince and Ivy worried for the girl. She was too naïve in general and much too blinded by the boy’s charm which was simply a cloak hiding his depravity. The Hound she had noticed, while gruff, did not seem to share the same love of base cruelty that his liege did. Where the boy seemed to relish watching others suffer and struggle the Hound on the other hand appeared appalled by the Crown Prince’s enjoyment of it. It wasn’t overt, nothing those around him would notice, but Ivy had spent twelve years in the background just watching. She had learned very well how to read people.

She paced the yard and spun her short sword in a circle at her side before turning to feign an attack on one of the many wooden dummies in the yard. For a good hour she practiced a series of parries and thrusts, finally when she was breathing hard and had worked up a cool sweat she paused. Placing her sword point into the earth she leaned on the pommel and put her other hand on her hip. Taking a deep breath she tilted her head back and stuck out her tongue to catch the falling snow.

“You were missed at dinner,” she heard a deep rasp behind her.

Dropping her chin to her chest she sighed, “I find that hard to believe. My presence or lack thereof is hardly ever noticed.”

“Not true. The Crown Prince certainly noticed,” he told her and she could hear his booted feet move closer to her. “I noticed.”

Chuckling she turned to face him, “I know why the Prince would notice, I’m a novelty to him. Why would you?”

He shrugged and looked into her eyes, “I’ve not met a woman as strong willed and capable as you.”

Sheathing her sword she moved to sit on a bench in front of the practice armory and stretched her legs out in front of her. “Don’t you mean stubborn?” She asked and looked up at him with a wry grin.

“Aye, that too,” he rasped.

Ivy looked at him then, really looked, and found something in his eyes she rarely saw in men. Honesty. He had told her he never lied, and she believed him. Sandor Clegane may be feared for his size and brute strength as well as his prowess in a fight but underneath it all she saw…What? A kindred spirit? That thought had her screwing up her face into a thoughtful expression and she tilted her head just slightly as she admired him. Of course that just made him scowl.

“You must be daft too,” he mumbled.

“You brought the insults Clegane? Where’s the wine? If we’re to sit here and berate each other I need strong wine,” she jested until he produced a wineskin from his belt beneath his jerkin making her raise an eyebrow and hold out her hand.

He passed the skin to her and she took a long drink before handing it back. Wine on an empty stomach wasn’t her brightest idea but she’d just filch a loaf of leftover bread from the kitchens when she finally made her way back into the keep. The cook was used to her odd hours and always left a few loaves of bread and good aged cheese around for her.

Closing her eyes she relished the snowflakes dancing on her skin, imagining they were the featherlight touch of a lover. Seven Hells! Why did she have to even think that with him standing right there. Since the day he’d ridden into the yard at Winterfell she felt drawn to him and it really made no logical sense. Opening her eyes again she found his own eyes roaming her body. She wasn’t ugly by any stretch, but she didn’t have the beauty her cousin’s daughters did. Her strawberry hair was long and softly waved, green eyes that bordered on blue at times, and fair smooth skin. She was tall but still much shorter than the man in front of her with her eyes level perhaps to his shoulder blade and while her body was lithe with good muscle tone it was lush as well.

“Now who’s the daft one?” She teased him watching his eyes linger appreciatively over her feminine curves. “You know I’m armed do you not?”

He chuckled lightly, “Aye. And now I know why you have no lover. You threaten the men who would have you.”

Ivy bristled at that remark, though he meant it in jest, it cut to the quick nonetheless. But she wouldn’t allow him to know that her feelings were hurt or why, “My fingers are a better lover than any man thinks to be. At least I can give myself release.”

She noted he froze with the wineskin halfway to his mouth at that comment and started muttering under his breath to himself before he finally blurted, “Seven buggering hells woman, don’t talk like that.”

Shrugging she stood and reached for the wineskin, took a drink from it, and tried her best at a lustful smile before handing it back and patting his chest. The man had lightning quick reflexes and snagged her hand before she could move away and bent pulling her to within inches of his face.

“Woman, you’re lucky I am who I am. Another man would rape you in the dirt,” he growled.

Her eyes flashed and all pretense at flirting with this man vanished at his words. She pulled the dagger she kept in her boot and held it to his neck, “You could try Hound but I’d slit your throat and cut off your cock before you got me in the dirt.”

He smiled again, the genuine smile that made his gruff features handsome, and stood up which effectively eliminated any threat to him from her dagger, “Good woman.”

She stormed off back in the direction of the keep but froze when she heard him call out to her again making her turn her head his way.

“I said another man Ivy, not me. Do not mistake me, I’m not my brother. I don’t force women to give what they would not willingly give,” he explained calmly but with an edge to his tone.

Ivy continued walking into the keep, stopping by the kitchens for some crusty bread, aged cheese, and a jug of wine before heading to her chambers. By the time she drowned her anger and desires in the wine she had a headache and a roiling stomach, so she nibbled on some of the food she’d filched, and started running hot water in her tub for a bath. Winterfell had it’s distinct benefits, the hot running water was one thing she would greatly miss when they made their way to King’s Landing. She removed her armor, dropping the pieces next to her bed and climbed into the tub for a good long hot soak.

The next evening she was getting ready for dinner as she had been requested by Ned to attend the feast in honor of Sansa’s betrothal to the Crown Prince. She was to begin her duties as Sansa’s shield that evening and essentially act as the counterpart to Sandor. When she thought of him she felt a little guilty for getting so angry the night before, he had no way of knowing his words would irk her the way they had. She had her dress lying on her bed and was plaiting her hair into one long braid down her back with silver ribbon wound through it when someone knocked at her door. Finishing her braid she went to the door and opened it to find Sandor standing there in a black jerkin with his house sigil embroidered onto the breast, the rest of his clothing was his normal dark smoky grey. He took her breath away at how handsome he looked and she just stared for a moment.

The unburned side of his lip quirked up as she continued to stare, “You intend to wear a dressing gown to the feast?”

Shaking the cobwebs out of her head she looked up at him, “What?”

“Your dress?” He queried and waved his hand to her robe.

Motioning to the silvery grey dress on the bed she stepped back from the door, “I still have to dress. Why did you come?”

“The Crown Prince thought it would be fitting for me to bring you to the small hall tonight on my arm. I suppose it amuses him.” He growled, and looked none too happy.

“Is this some great burden?” She snorted.

“Never mind, just dress,” he rasped and backed up pulling her door closed.

Mumbling to herself she put on her gown and buckled her emerald encrusted swordbelt around her hips – her only concession to any jeweled adornment. Picking up her short sword she sheathed it and opened the door to find Clegane leaning back against the wall across from her door with his hands resting on the pommel of his own sword. His eyes assessed her from head to toe with a smile when they fell on her sword, and offered her his arm.

She rested her hand on his forearm which he brought into his chest pulling her closer. “Now look particularly happy so Joff will have no reason to humiliate you like this again.”

“Is that what you think? That I’d be humiliated to be seen walking into the hall on your arm?” She hissed at him.

He merely shrugged and started walking down the hall trying to pull her with him. She yanked her hand away from his arm, pulled her skirts up, and hurried in front of him ignoring his laughter.

She walked into the small hall with Sandor trailing behind her, the unburned side of his lip quirking just a little. “That’s enough of your mirth Clegane, now leave me be.” She huffed and took her seat next to Sansa who looked a little shocked at her tone and the sword. Glancing up she saw Ned and Robert share a look, but where Robert looked pleased Ned looked concerned. A few feet over Joffrey looked decidedly pleased with himself.

“Seven hells,” she cursed.

Sansa gasped, “Ivy, whatever is wrong?”

“Men are bloody buggering fools, that’s what,” she sighed.

At that she heard Sandor chuckle.

“Not my Joffrey, he is wonderful.” Sansa sighed dreamily.

“Oh bugger me,” Ivy rolled her eyes and shook her head, out of the corner of her eye she could see Ned still watching her.

At the end of the feast her cousin came down from the high table and came up behind her, “Ivy, I would speak with you if you will.”

“Of course Ned,” she turned and accepted his arm as she stood and followed him to his solar where she found King Robert already sitting behind the table there looking nothing like the King he was supposed to be.

“Ivy Tarly,” Robert said looking closely at her. “It’s been a long time.”

She bristled at his use of her real name, “Tully Your Grace, it’s Tully.” Never should have used Tully, it was just too obvious she wasn’t a Tully, she thought. She should have just chosen Stark since she was really a distant Stark cousin on her mother’s side. That would have been more believable.

The King chuckled, “I know who you are girl. It was my brother you cuckolded.”

“I did n…” She started to protest but Ned just shook his head sharply at her.

Many years ago, before Lyanna was murdered Robert had been a kind and gentle man. Fearsome to be sure, but the man in front of her now wasn’t even the same one who had been the kinder soul twelve years ago. He wasn’t the same man that sent her off with Ser Barristan Selmy to deliver her to her cousin Ned at Winterfell after they found her beaten, burned, and bloodied outside of her father’s keep. Her father had told them she had cuckolded Stannis with the bard and that he sent her across the Narrow Sea as punishment. When by chance Ser Barristan found her and she told them the truth the King believed her, she bore some proof of her assault after all. But now the King standing before her was in his cups and probably remembered nothing of what really happened so many years later.

“Bugger that, you were better off anyway. Stannis is so pious even the High Septon can’t stand him,” Robert mused to himself and reached for the jug of wine on the table and poured himself another cup.

Ivy looked to Ned again whose expression was a mix of anger and trepidation which just worried her even more.

Slamming the cup down on the table he looked to Ned and then Ivy and a smile formed over his face, “House Stark and House Baratheon are joining in the marriage of Sansa to my Joffrey. It seems fitting that the Crown Prince’s sworn shield should also join his future wife’s sworn shield as well.”

Her mouth dropped open and she felt like her heart stopped, looking to Ned she saw him nod his head once to confirm. “But your Grace, Sandor Clegane is a Lord’s son. I am not pure enough for such a marriage.”

“Bah, The Mountain that Rides is the heir to Clegane Keep. The Hound has no need of a pure wife or heirs,” he waved his hand to dismiss her concerns as if they were nothing. “Besides I come to understand you are fond of one another which is more than I can say of myself and Cersei. If Lyanna had lived…” And Robert was off on his musings again.

“And Sandor has agreed to this?” She asked, it was bold she knew but he was acting like her disgrace was nothing.

Robert returned to the present and slammed his hand down on the table this time and looked at her with rage behind his eyes, “He will do as his King demands as will you girl.”

“Very well Your Grace, I thank you for finding me a suitable husband who can accept my flaws,” she ground out, her eyes staring at the wall in front of her.

He didn’t even notice the rancor behind her words and just smiled as he raised his arms, “Have some wine, celebrate. You will marry before we leave Winterfell.”

Her eyes snapped to Ned’s as he poured small amounts of wine into two more cups and handed one off to her. He just shook his head and they drank their wine with the King, fortunately it wasn’t long before he left them to find his bed.

“How in the Seven Hells did he come up with this idea Ned?” She spat at her cousin.

“Joffrey,” was all Ned had to say.


	5. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivy tells Sandor the truth of her past and is disappointed.

Still back in Winterfell…

"Has the King told him yet?" Ivy asked her cousin.

"No, that was to be Joffrey's duty," Ned responded with a frustrated sigh before lifting his eyes to hers. "Ivy, I don't like this, I fought with him on it but he has his mind set."

She softened at his words and smiled, "Ned, you needn't worry about me. I will be fine."

He gave her a speculative look, "Were Robert's words true?"

Ivy contemplated for a moment what she should say and opted for the truth. She'd never lied to her cousin before, why start now? "They are," she held up a hand when his brow furrowed. "I know his reputation, I know what he's done and what he's capable of. He's not been that man to me."

"Keep it close then. If your feelings are true they could be used against you. Something is awry in the King's court and I am unsure who can be trusted," he confided.

"Not a one of them," she told him seriously. "Not even Robert."

He nodded and his eyes turned sorrowful then, "I am sorry that I could not make a more suitable match for you when you first came here. I'd thought Jory would be."

She smiled and shook her head, she had never blamed Ned for Jory's rejection, or for the fact that he couldn't consider his any of his bannerman. Doing so would have put her at risk to discovery and Stannis' wrath at the time. "It was never your fault Ned," she assured him and turned to the door before hesitating with her back to him. "I didn't cuckold Stannis. You know I speak the truth in that do you not?"

She felt his hand on her shoulder and she turned her head to look in his serious grey eyes, "I've never doubted you."

Ivy dropped her chin, "Robert does." Taking a deep breath she looked at him again, "What if Clegane does as well?"

His hand gave her a gentle squeeze of her shoulder, "If he is the man to you that you say he is he will not doubt you either.

Nodding she made her way from Ned's solar and decided she needed some air. Remembering the chill in the air she stopped by her room first to get her cloak before walking to the Godswood. When she got there she kneeled in front of the heart tree and prayed for understanding from the man she was soon to marry. She knew from her experience with Jory that she had to be honest with Sandor, before they got to the wedding. Her head was bowed with her eyes closed and her hands rested in her lap as she thought about what she needed to say when she heard his voice.

“Thought when you weren’t in your room that I’d find you here. At least you’ve the good sense to wear your cloak this time,” came his snarl from behind her.

Well, she really hadn’t wanted to have this conversation this night but by his tone the princeling must have spilled his glee. She didn’t turn to look at him and kept her eyes closed, “I take it Joffrey told you of his idea and the King’s decree?”

“Aye,” he replied, a bit too angrily for her liking. “You might be forced to marry this dog but I won’t take what you don’t give willingly to me after that.”

She laughed at that, “Sandor, the marriage will have to be consummated. You know Joffrey will insist on some proof.” Sighing she stood and turned to face him, “Unfortunately I have none to give.”

“Speak plain woman, I don’t like games,” he narrowed his eyes menacingly at her, “OR lies.”

“Seven hells Sandor, I don’t lie,” she snapped, and when he raised a brow as if to challenge her she rolled her eyes and pointed her finger at him. “THAT lie was necessary and not truly my choice.”

“There is always a choice,” he growled and she could see she wasn’t going to get anywhere with that.

Ivy started pacing then. She was a strong woman, perhaps not his equal in strength, but she was skilled in many things she was sure he was not. They would be good counterpoints to one another. Now she just needed to stop stalling and tell him the truth. Apparently he had the same thought and put his hands on her shoulders to stop her pacing. She bristled a little, not because she didn’t trust him, but because she did.

“Woman, if you continue pacing you will pace a trench in your path.” His hands dropped from her shoulders and went to rest on the pommel of his sword.

“Do you even want me for a wife?” She asked and placed her hands on her hips, certain she looked like a shrew in that moment.

“What does it matter what I want?” he rasped.

She rolled her eyes then, “Every woman wants to be wanted by the man who is to be her husband. I can’t blame you that you don’t. Did Joffrey tell you my history? Or did the King neglect to share that bit of information with the sod?”

“Careful what you say about the Crown Prince when any other ears are about, it won’t bode well for either of us,” he looked around the wood but she knew no one else could hear them. Their voices were low and the heart tree had a way of discouraging prying ears. “All he said was that his father decreed his shield and that of his betrothed were to wed before we made way for King’s Landing.”

Ivy hummed and nodded her head, “I won’t mince words Sandor. The truth of it is I am Randall Tarly’s eldest daughter, I am not a Tully. I’m actually a distant cousin of Ned’s, he is my family, not Cat. When I was sixteen I was promised to Stannis Baratheon and on the eve of the feast my father had to celebrate the bard who was passing through came to my room. When he ripped my gown I stabbed his arm with his knife. My maid took the bloodied sheets to my father the next day and after beating and burning me he chased me from the keep for cuckolding the King’s brother. I don’t know how but Ser Barristan Selmy found me the next day, in poor shape, and the King bade him bring me to my cousin here in Winterfell. It was decided I would be Ivy Tully, Cat’s cousin, from then on. I’d been here less than a year and Ned thought to make a match for me with Jory, the castellan’s son, the one you saw me fighting with in the yard when Joffrey bade you teach me. I told Jory what I am telling you now and he couldn’t stand the thought that another man had me before him, he rejected me. Harshly.”

Sandor had been quiet while she talked and was eyeing her carefully, “It’s hard for a man to accept his wife wasn’t just his.”

She pursed her lips and gave him a look of utter disappointment, “I thought you were better than that Sandor. I really did.” She walked to the path leading back to the keep but turned back to look at him, “I’ll give myself to you willingly Sandor, because if I’m going to have a husband I might as well enjoy the benefits of it. I would be just yours, I’ve not had any lovers except my own hand. But you should know I don’t have a maidenhead to give you not because I threw it away to cuckold Stannis Baratheon, but rather because it was stolen from me by that bard.”

He looked startled by that admission then his eyes turned dark and she could see rage cross his features. Before he could say anything to her though she turned back to the path and walked to the keep and into her room with her heart hammering in her chest. Once there she stripped her clothes off, pulled the linen shift she slept in over her head and crawled into her bed. She tossed and turned for a while and before long found her hand reaching into her smallclothes and the wetness there to stroke her swollen nub until she found her release with Sandor’s name on her lips.

**Sandor’s POV**

When Ivy told him her maidenhead was stolen from her he just wanted to find the man who hurt her and rip him to bloody pieces. He wasn’t disappointed that she was to be his wife, to the contrary she had been the only woman he had ever met who he felt he could tolerate. What he was not overly pleased about was the Crown Prince’s delight at his matchmaking and the fact that Ivy would suffer him for a husband. And now he had been a buggering idiot with his words and she thought him no better than the men who hurt her.

He’d known she was holding something back in her telling and used the words he did so she would reveal the rest. His words were true, most men could not accept their wife had been with others before them. But he just hadn’t expected her to say what she did. Even if she had willingly given her maidenhead to someone else at the age of sixteen he wouldn’t have wanted her any less. Who was he to judge? Sandor had certainly made his share of mistakes and wasn’t exactly the kind of man one would call honorable. Even so he still wasn’t his brother.

Needing to break something but knowing that hacking on any of the trees in the Godswood would not endear him to his soon to be wife or her family he walked back toward the keep. His eyes searched the yard but couldn’t find anything he felt was suitable for his rage so he went to the stables, saddled Stranger, and rode out of the keep. When he was far enough away not to alarm any one he got down off Stranger’s back and found a tree he found suitable to take his rage out on. His vision was red while he hacked and slashed and roared out his rage. By the time he was done he was breathing heavily and had reduced the tree to kindling but found he was still angry. He started to pace the wood much like Ivy had and realized he was sorely disappointed in himself for how he’d handled things with her.

He woke early the next morning with the intent to search Ivy down and make amends but Joffrey had other ideas. After breaking his fast with the Queen and his siblings Joffrey called for him to accompany him to the practice yard once again. They found the Imp standing outside the yard watching as Ivy instructed the Stark cub Robb, his bastard brother Jon Snow, and the Winterfell ward Theon Greyjoy in the proper way to fell a larger opponent.

“She is a vision is she not?” The little lord asked when he noted their approach.

“And she will be my dog’s bitch!” Joffrey exclaimed happily making Sandor’s lip curl in a snarl he kept to himself.

Tyrion gave his nephew a sharp look, “That is not a way to speak of a lady.”

Joffrey sneered, “She isn’t a lady uncle, she’s just some cousin they pitied. Hardly anything to look at.”

“I beg to differ. She is marvelous, graceful and lithe. The Hound will be a lucky man indeed. She is certainly more capable than some princelings I know of,” the little lord quipped and turned to make his way to the small hall.

Sandor watched him for a moment then looked down at the boy who was red faced and staring at Ivy.

“Dog, go show her how to fight. And make it good,” Joffrey spat.

He thought to refuse but knew if he did it would just get worse and so decided to take a different approach. Walking up to where Ivy stood in front of Theon Greyjoy he waited until she noticed his shadow on the ground and turned to face him.

“If you’re teaching the lordlings how to take down a larger opponent why not use one?’ His smile was sardonic, he could see she was not at all happy to see him standing there.

“I will not fight you Ser,” she told him and turned back to the Greyjoy boy who was smiling at them.

“I am no Ser,” he snarled at her.

She didn’t even turn to look at him, but he noted Greyjoy’s smile dropped and he stepped back, “I apologize then, MY LORD, but I will still not fight you.”

“I am not your lord either woman,” he snarled again.

He heard her inhale before she turned to face him again, “Perhaps not, but you are to be my husband. And I may not be a lady but I have enough respect for your station not to make a mockery of it.”

His eyes flicked to the prince who was smiling then to the lordlings who were frowning and finally landed back on Ivy who looked…What? Hurt? Angry? He wasn’t sure, but he was damn sure going to find out. Snaking his hand out he snatched her forearm and started to drag her along behind him to somewhere, anywhere, that he could speak to her without other ears and eyes.

When they were sufficiently out of view and earshot he let her go, “What the fuck is wrong with you Ivy Tully?”

“Absolutely nothing my lord,” she replied calmly.

He put his hands on her shoulders and drew her into him until her nose brushed his, “I know you’re lying.”

She shook her head and gave a small wry laugh, “There’s nothing wrong with me Sandor, I don’t know about you.”

Huffing out a breath he shook his head, “My words were not meant as you took them Ivy. I don’t like the fact that you’re not a maiden but not for the reason you think. I would have you even if you had sold yourself as a whore.”

Ivy’s eyes narrowed and she turned away from him and walked back the way they came. Fuck! Now what was he supposed to do? It seemed every time he opened his mouth he just made things worse.


	6. An Alliance is Formed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivy and Sandor marry and Sandor proves his worth to Ivy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still in the past at Winterfell. Most likely will stay in the past until the timelines catch up to each other.
> 
> Smut warning: The consummation of Ivy and Sandor's marriage is at the end of this chapter.

**Sandor’s POV**

Sandor didn’t have a chance to speak to Ivy again about his mistakenly hurtful words. The second youngest Stark boy had fallen from the First Keep and broken his back and legs. The boys’ direwolf howled day and night keeping him awake so he was spending more time in the yard. When he did see Ivy she was either in the Godswood or gathering medicinal plants and working with the Maester. Apparently in addition to being an able swordswoman she was also a healer of sorts. He supposed that would be a useful skill for his wife to have considering his line of work and the countless injuries he’d sustained over the years.

It was another week before he was called to the King’s presence and told he would marry Ivy Tully that day and to ready himself. The Stark boy was broken, no one would be able to fix his legs, but he would live. They would be leaving for King’s Landing in three days’ time and a wedding would be just what they all needed to take their minds from the Stark’s sorrow. Fortunately, he had been ready for this and had his good jerkin and breeches clean and ready as well as his cloak for the cloaking of his bride. Apparently, Ivy’s only request was that they be wed in the manner of the old gods rather than by Septon Chayle in a Faith of the Seven wedding. Sandor didn’t care how they married, he would marry Ivy in whatever manner she requested and however the King allowed them to marry. He had just wished to resolve the hurt he’d caused her before she was forced to be his wife. She had been right that the marriage would have to be consummated. Joffrey would demand some proof of it and he needed to determine how he would give it without shaming Ivy or the little snit demanding they perform the bedding with him watching.

It was that thought which brought him to Eddard Stark’s solar after he had bathed and dressed in preparation for the ceremony that was to take place after dusk. The older Stark Lord seemed surprised to see Sandor at his door but waved him in nonetheless.

“Clegane, I’m afraid Cat’s cousin does not have a dowry for us to give you,” he said with arms folded over his chest and a wary look upon his face.

Sandor almost growled but he had known his reputation would not endear him to the Stark Lord so kept his head, “I don’t want anything from you to marry her. And I know she’s your cousin.” Stark looked surprised but kept quiet. “What I want to know is who truly knows she is not not a maiden?”

The man’s eyebrows rose to his hairline, “She told you all of it then?” Sandor nodded at him. “Myself, Cat, Maester Luwin, the King, and Ser Barristan Selmy. Though the King no longer remembers. She never told Jory the entire story, he walked out before she could. What of it?”

“I don’t want her shamed when my liege demands proof of the bedding,” was all the answer Sandor gave the man before turning to leave his solar. He hesitated though and turned back to look at the elder Stark who wore a befuddled look, “I don’t make vows. Think they’re useless words because people who make them don’t keep them. Your cousin though…” Sandor was growling then and the Lord raised an eyebrow as he continued. “I’ll speak the words for her, and I will keep them.”

A few hours later, as dusk was descending over the keep, he was gathered in the Godswood in front of the heart tree with the King, Joffrey and his siblings, the Imp, the oldest Stark boy, both girls, and the bastard, the Winterfell ward, a few more people he recognized, and a few he didn’t. The Queen and her twin were noticeably absent, probably off fucking somewhere (he wasn’t as stupid as he looked), as was the Lady Stark. He knew Lord Stark would be walking Ivy to the Godswood and presenting her to Sandor and the King would act instead of his father to officiate the ceremony. At least the King did not appear to be drunk as of yet.

When he saw Ivy he felt like his heart leapt from his chest into his hands as an offering to her. She looked like something not meant for mortal men, especially not one like him. Her long strawberry colored hair was pulled back from her face but left curling down her back with what looked to be small white flowers placed here and there. The gown she wore was an ivory color with long sleeves that bared her hands on the top but felt to the floor in long points underneath where he could see green embroidery running through them. But it wasn’t her hair or the dress that had bewitched him. It was the smile she gave him upon first laying eyes on his when she stepped into the Godswood with her cousin. Her smile was fleeting, not all those present were to be trusted, but that brief smile spoke of forgiveness and promise. In that moment he swore to himself he would do everything possible to be the best husband he could for her. He might not be the husband she deserved, to his mind he felt she deserved much better, but he could at least be good to her. She didn’t annoy him after all and he found he wasn’t opposed to showing her his gentler side, the man he might have been had life not shit on him. Despite being ordered to marry by the King and his get this woman told him she was giving herself to him willingly. That was something he rarely had, and even when freely given those women always had some other goal in mind. Ivy didn’t and he was determined not to make her regret trusting him.

When they reached where he stood in front of the heart tree the King stood taller and cleared his throat, “Who comes before the Old Gods this night?”

“Ivy, of the House Tully, comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?” Lord Stark responded.

Sandor had been told how these old ceremonies went and remembered the words to speak, “Sandor, of House Clegane. Who gives her?”

“Eddard, of the House Stark, who is her protector.”

The King then looked to Ivy, “Lady Ivy, do you take this man?”

“I take this man,” Ivy spoke loudly and clearly so everyone present could hear her, making Sandor proud to know it was him she was accepting as her husband.

At that point Sandor reached out to take Ivy’s hand and they kneeled in front of the heart tree where they paused for a moment in prayer to the Old Gods. When they stood Sandor removed the Tully cloak Ivy wore and handed it to Lord Stark before he placed the Clegane cloak he had folded over his arm over her. And with that the ceremony was over and Ivy was his wife. His wife. Seven buggering hells.

The King smiled and raised his arms, “Everyone back to the keep. We’ll feast and drink then send these two off to be bedded!”

Sandor felt Ivy tense next to him, but he didn’t think it was at the thought of being bedded by him. Rather more at the worry as to what would follow in the morning when proof was demanded by the snit whose idea this was in the first place. He just squeezed her hand and walked them back to the keep and the small hall where the wedding feast was being held.

**Ivy’s POV**

Sandor watched as he always did and she sat next to her new husband at the high table and ate small amounts of what was put in front of them and drank honeyed water. Sandor ate much as he always did however she noted that he paced himself on the wine. When people started calling for the bedding ceremony Sandor shook off the women who grabbed at him and growled at the first man who reached for Ivy.

“I’m capable of undressing my own wife, I don’t think the Lord Stark would appreciate it if I were to spill blood in his keep,” he told them in a low dangerous tone, and she noted her cousin wear a small flicker of a smile. Sandor was holding onto Ivy’s arm in a grip of iron to prevent anyone from taking her from him, but still his touch was gentle.

Joffrey came over then and grinned, “My shield is a selfish one, keeping his new wife to himself. Very well, no bedding ceremony! But I think the proof of the bedding should be hung in the courtyard for all to see.”

Ivy’s heart dropped at that, what had she done to this boy to make him want to humiliate her like this.

Ned stepped in at that point, “Your Grace I’m not sure that is the most appropriate. We are more private in the North.”

King Robert held up a flagon of wine as he shuffled over to the small group gathering around her and Sandor, “Ah Ned, it won’t hurt anything. Let the keep see the proof that the Hound claimed his wife on this night if he won’t let them have the bedding ceremony.”

She noted Sandor and Ned exchange a look that she didn’t understand before Sandor took her hand and pulled her behind him to the chamber they would be sharing until they left Winterfell. Once he had her through the door she stood facing the bed they would share. Where she would give herself to him and her maiden’s blood would not be shed.

Turning around to face him she found he was standing right behind her, for such a large man he was extremely quiet when he moved. Looking up into his stormy grey eyes she opened her mouth to say something to him, anything, but she had no words. He was watching her, carefully, with something in his eyes she didn’t quite recognize. His stance was rigid, as if he were waiting for some sign or word from her to touch her. Even though she’d told him she would give herself to him willingly she realized this first time he wouldn’t do anything until she made it clear she wanted him to. The problem was she was frozen.

“So now that we’re wed do you still intend to give yourself to me?” He asked gruffly, still standing in front of their bedchamber door. Sandor waited for her to respond and when she didn’t, couldn’t, she saw anger and hurt cross his face and he turned toward the door.

Ivy finally shook herself out of her daze and grabbed his forearm, "Sandor stop!” She didn’t want to admit she didn't know what to do, but knew that she didn't. This was a situation where she lacked any experience and would need to follow his lead, one he seemed unwilling to take. Perhaps she should have sought out some advice from Cat or one of the long-married women of the keep but this wasn't something she felt comfortable discussing with anyone.

He had stopped with his hand on the door and waited while she grasped his forearm.

For once in more than ten years she felt unsure of herself and hated how weak she knew she was about to sound. "I don't know what to do," she almost whispered.

Turning slowly to face her his expression was unreadable, it wasn't anger or disappointment she saw but something else she just couldn't place. Hope? Desire? His eyes sought hers and held them, "Do you trust me?"

With that question she realized they were both unsure. He needed to know that she trusted him not to hurt her, and she needed to know that he wanted her despite what she couldn't give him. Her expression softened and she reached up to place a hand on the scarred side of his face, "Of course I do."

Moving back toward he bed he took her hand and pulled her into him. She placed her palms flat on his chest over his jerkin and looked up into his eyes as his hands settled at the small of her back. “You know I’ll never be good with the words you need to hear, I do better with action. Consider that when you think I’m being thickheaded. But I need you to hear my words now.” His hands moved to her cheeks and gently held them, “I’ve never wanted a woman more than you. That you don’t have a maidenhead to give doesn’t matter to me, why you don’t matters only because someone hurt you.”

Ivy’s heart melted at his words, she’d already figured out that words weren’t his strength and forgiven him that. If he spent the years showing her how he felt then they’d be just fine. He watched her expression at his words and seeming to be satisfied by what he saw he bent to kiss her lips. When he did her lips started to tingle and when he touched his tongue to them she sighed and he deepened the kiss making the tingling fire all through her body. She could feel his hands move up her dress and undo the laces holding it in place. Before she knew what was happening it had pooled at her feet leaving her standing in front of him in her corset and small clothes.

He backed her to the bed and when she reached it they lay down together with one of his knees between her legs. Bracing his weight on his forearms he hovered over her looking into her eyes, “I don’t know how to be gentle, I only know how to fuck.”

She smiled and whispered huskily, “Sandor, right now I just need to feel wanted, to feel you inside of me. We can learn how to love each other together after tonight.”

“Seven buggering hells woman,” he cursed and before she knew what was happening he’d shed the clothes he worn for their marriage and skillfully removed her corset and small clothes.

Sandor was huge. Everywhere. And she was beginning to worry that her body wouldn’t accommodate his size. She bit the corner of her lip to suppress a gasp of pleasure when she felt his finger probing her most intimate of places. He found her wet and swollen with desire and he groaned. His stormy grey eyes flicked up to hers and she smiled at her new husband as she felt one long thick finger slid easily inside of her. Her eyes widened and her back arched her breasts and their swollen aching nipples up into his broad chest. When a second finger slid inside of her she sucked in a breath and he bent his head to capture her lips with his. The delicious way he was moving his fingers in and out of her had her hips rocking to match the slow rhythm he set. A third finger joined the first two and her eyes flew to his.

“Don’t want to hurt you,” he ground out, it seemed that using his fingers rather than his cock was taking its toll on him as well.

She reached down to grab his rock-hard cock which had been pressed into her hip and ran her finger over the silky head feeling the bead of moisture there which she rubbed over it. He groaned louder this time and she tried pulling him toward her wet and willing body.

“Ivy…” he hesitated as he positioned himself.

“Please…” she begged, her need to feel him claim her and mark her as his outweighed any fear she may have felt over his size.

Sandor thrust once, hard and fast, and was seated to the hilt inside of her wet heat. There was no pain, just exquisite pleasure and a feeling of fullness that made her feel strangely feminine. She could feel him touch something that sent sparks of electricity through her entire body and when he started to move slowly in and out of her those tingles near drove her crazy. How she couldn’t answer but when she brought her legs up around his waist it felt like he grew even more and got harder. At that angle every time he thrust into her the friction at the little bundle of nerves above their connection drove her mad. With each movement she felt the muscles of Sandor’s back ripple under her fingers and felt the tightly coiled strength that was her husband. All of the raw power and violence he contained inside of him and with her he was strangely tender. He was quiet as he moved inside of her, until her legs and arms tightened around him and her climax came upon her suddenly.

“Fuck Ivy,” he growled and his hips faltered.

A low keening sound started at the back of Ivy’s throat and Sandor’s lips caught hers before a loud moan escaped. His climax hit as hers reached its peak. He thrust twice more before rearing his head back and groaning out her name as he pulsed and twitched inside of her spilling his seed into her womb. She was trembling underneath of him and smiling at the thought that she somehow held the power to make this man, feared by so many, lose his control to her. She felt him inhale and opened her eyes as he leaned his forehead into hers. For the first time in her life she felt wanted and safe and it made her heart soar.

Early the next morning when she made her way alone into the courtyard for her morning training as was her habit she saw the sheet that had been on her marriage bed the night before. Very clearly evident in the middle was a bloodstain that was simply impossible. Something made her turn her head and she saw Sandor leaning against the entry to the stables with his arms crossed over his broad chest and head tilted to the side watching her. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes and she touched her right hand to her heart. He nodded simply once and turned to go into the stables. It might have been a lie but it was his way of letting her know that he didn’t view her as sullied and he wasn’t letting anyone think that either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize it's taken so long to update. Rest assured I am not abandoning this fic. Unfortunately I just don't have as much spare time as I did when I originally started this and my other fics. So while I don't plan on letting it go as long as it did this time, updates may be around every 3-4 weeks.


	7. UPDATE

I know several people have asked if I am continuing this fic. There hadn't been a lot of interest in it and I lost motivation. But I will work on chapters to close out the storyline so it's not just hanging out there unfinished. It might take me some time to get through it but I will. If you're interested and still reading thank you! :)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the other Hound/OFC one shot I wrote several years ago. I started kind of in the middle of their story and have the beginning and a good idea as to where they are going in my head. For now I've made it a one shot but if anyone is really interested in more just comment and I'll be happy to continue on.


End file.
